Nottingham

  Marion gasped audibly. “What? He wouldn’t—!”

  It was unthinkable. Roger de Lacy was a pacifist to the bone, and this simply wasn’t in his nature. Either this man was misinformed or there was something new at play, something that had forced the Sheriff’s hand. Marion’s stomach heaved and a sudden stab of guilt shot through her body as rigid as an arrow. She should not have stayed in the forest so long. If she had visited Nottingham even once in the last month, surely she would have seen the signs of something like this, and could have prevented it.

  “They just barged right into my home,” Stutely reported. “They threw whatever they could into my barrow, and then they took the barrow, too.”

  “He has no right.” Friar Tuck shook his head. Marion noticed how the crowd started to cling to each other, mothers holding their children closer. It wasn’t for warmth.

  “And not just Thorney.” Stutely reached for a half-eaten dough-cake on the rocks by the fire. “It’s everywhere. We went to Godling and it was the same there, and Lowdham and Lanley Marsh. We didn’t have nowhere to go after that, we were too tired. We have children, you know? What were we supposed to do?”

  Will Scarlet at last removed his hands from his blades, and instead patted Stutely on the shoulders. “I knew this would happen! We lay low and we stay out of the Sheriff’s way, and what happens? The Sheriff thinks he can do whatever he wants!”

  Stutely chewed on the cake, but it didn’t stop him from talking. “It’s worse in Bernesdale, I hear. They took over the city, booted everyone out of their homes, every last one. They say they’re bringing wagons and wagons there, stockpiling. That’s when I knew I had to come find you, no matter what it took.”

  “Wait.” Tuck put his hands out. “This is out of the realm of our capabilities.”

  Stutely’s eyebrows smashed together. “Out of the … realm … of your … capabilities?”

  “It’s beyond our help.”

  “Beyond your help?” His confusion led him to look around, for the first time connecting with the remainder of the crowd. He choked for a moment and then spat his food into the fire. “You’re going to fight for us, aren’t you?”

  “Fight for you?” Robin asked. “Has there been fighting?”

  “No, no. I don’t think so,” Stutely stammered to understand. “We thought you would do that for us.”

  Marion took the full weight of that expectation like an axe. Beside her, Robin too reeled with the ramification. “So you just abandoned your homes,” he laughed, half-heartedly, “expecting me to come and rescue you?”

  “Robin.” She reached out to him, but he shook her off. A log popped in the fire and a cloud of embers floated up and away.

  Stutely didn’t answer. He studied the faces of each person watching him, and apparently found disappointment.

  “I knew it. I knew you were full of shit.” He snatched an unattended wooden cup and drank everything in it, its liquid pouring out the sides of his mouth and into his beard. “I told my friend Munday you were a liar. But I came anyways. I knew it.”

  Scarlet, naturally, took first offense. “Hold on a moment—”

  “Fuck on all of you,” Stutely added. “I’ll just take my coin and go.”

  Robin spun his head around. “Excuse me?”

  “Coin,” Stutely said slowly, deliberately. “I need some more of it. When you came through last week, that fool Munday got two or three times as much as I did. He doesn’t even need it. He’s so skinny he doesn’t eat much anyhow. He’s doing fine, but he got more than me. Didn’t think that was very fair at all.”

  Marion reached out to Robin before he said a word, but it was still too late. Whatever improvements she had witnessed in his character sloughed off like mud in the rain. He barged past John and the fire, grabbed the stranger’s fur with his fists, and launched him away from the group.

  “Get out!” he screamed. “Get the hell out of here right now or I swear…”

  Arthur and David forced themselves into the midst, pulling Robin off. Friar Tuck hastened to escort Stutely away. “Come along, friend, now’s not a good time, perhaps in the morning.”

  “Out of the camp!” Robin bellowed. “He doesn’t stay here. This isn’t charity!”

  “Robin, it’s dark,” Marion tried, but he only glared at her. It was a chilling empty stare, as if she were a stranger.

  “Didn’t think that was very fair at all?” he repeated. “We’re supposed to be helping these people, not putting their pants on for them.”

  John Little joined them. “Settle down.”

  “I should have let you all be arrested,” Robin hissed back.

  Scarlet dug in. “You think this is our fault? Really? We’ve done everything you said, Robin Hood. We started robbing the roads because you told us to, then we stopped because you told us to. All this was your idea, remember? But we were doing perfectly well before you came along.”

  “Perfectly well? Living in the woods and stealing from the King?”

  “Oh, the King! The King!” Will threw his hands in the air in ridicule. “Yes, we mustn’t do anything to upset the King! We’ve heard all about how you’re best friends with the King, and how much he does for us. Well I say piss on your King, Robin. I’ve got a best friend, too, and he’s right here.” He threw his hands onto Alan’s shoulders. “He’s right here. In England. He was born here and he speaks English and he does more for the people every day than your King has done in his entire life.”

  “You can’t fight the Sheriff—”

  “Whose side are you even on?” Will laughed. “All you do is defend the King and defend the Sheriff, and you give away everything we make. What about us, Robin? Why aren’t we worth fighting for?”

  “Stop it, you two!” Marion blurted out. She couldn’t suffer to see such bickering after all their progress. She would not watch it all fall apart for no reason. Their world had burned down before, and was poised to do so again. “This is not the time. There are people hurting out there.”

  Arthur grunted in agreement. “What are we going to do about these raids?”

  “What to do about them?” Robin shouted. “You don’t know the first thing about what’s happening, but you already think it has to be stopped, and you’re the ones to do it? You’re nothing compared to the Sheriff’s Guard. There’s a dozen of you and hundreds of them. And that’s aside from the fact that you shouldn’t do anything at all!”

  “There it is,” Will snarled. “There’s your great plan again. Sit back and do nothing. Back down, tend to ourselves. That’s what he said last week. We move backward, they move forward, that’s how it works. You told us this would all blow over, Robin, but we’ve got a storm bearing down on us. How long should we wait it out? Oh I know, how about another three or four days? That’s when you’re leaving, isn’t it?”

  He spat in the fire. Elena’s hands dropped down to stroke Much’s head. “The Sheriff didn’t just take our money and our homes,” she said.

  “That’s right.” Will snapped his fingers. “He took our way of life. He took our dignity. It’s awful easy for you to tell us to wait for things to get better, because you have a life to get on back to. But we’re here. Our life is here. This is it. We’re sick of waiting. Things aren’t going to get better lessin’ we make them better.”

  John Little tapped the dirt with his staff, seizing the attention. “Robin. You’ve had the best of intentions, but Will’s right. This isn’t your fight, and never was none. Your heart isn’t in it like your father’s was. Like ours are.”

  “My heart’s not in it?” Robin said dryly. “I lost a father.”

  “That you did,” John said. “But that was years before he died.”

  The truth of that sentence was staggering, but Robin ignored it. “John. Don’t do this. You’re going to get these people killed.”

  “Not me that’s doin’ it.” He frowned. “A call this important … Marion, this one’s for you.”

  Her attention was ful
ly in the fire. She saw Locksley Castle there, and the shattering difference between good intentions and reality. But while Lord Walter’s fate was by any account an accident, these raids were a deliberate act. Marion could not take back her mistakes any more than she could convince Roger de Lacy to undo something that had already—

  “What is he talking about?” Robin interrupted.

  “Quiet,” she snapped at him.

  But his jaw was dropped. “You’ve been directing them this whole time?”

  “Of course,” she answered, shocked he had to ask.

  “I thought you were here because I asked you to stay, not because…”

  “Well, I can’t help the things you think, Robin.” She didn’t mean to offend him, but there were more immediate concerns. “I probably shouldn’t be here at all. I’m normally able to protect them through my connections, stay abreast of any information. I didn’t know about these raids, though. I could have known, could have done something.”

  “Marion, it’s too dangerous.” Robin took her by the elbow and brought her away from the fire, as if she were some doll that might get burned. “If anyone were ever to find out about this…”

  “Everyone knows about this.”

  “Everyone?”

  “My house was openly against the new taxes,” she said flatly. “Your father stood at our side. It’s no secret which side of things we’re on.”

  “What if the Sheriff were to come after you?” he whispered.

  “Why? And how? He can’t. King Richard is my cousin. As long as he’s king, I am well protected. If Sheriff de Lacy tried to arrest me, the political ramifications would decimate him.”

  Robin just gaped, with nothing substantive to say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  At another time she might have laughed at his ignorance, but now it struck her as an insult. “I thought it was obvious. It is obvious. But you … you just don’t see me that way, I suppose.”

  “How have you not heard?” John asked, loud enough to remind Robin they were all still listening. “All the villagers talk about Robin Hood and Marion’s Men.”

  “Marion’s Men? I did hear that,” he mumbled. “But I thought … I must have heard them wrong, I thought they called you Merry Men.”

  Little coughed. “Merry Men?”

  Will burst out red. “Do I look fucking merry to you?”

  “This is unbelievable.” Robin shivered. The matter should have been over, but before Marion could return to her previous thought he exploded. “So why am I here at all, Marion?”

  “Don’t be like that.”

  “What am I doing here? You’re just using me for my family’s name, for my father’s name? What did you want from me? You needed my father’s son for them to rally behind? You needed a Robin Hood? Well, I’m not Robin Hood. I don’t even know what the hell it means. Here.” He pulled the leather cowl off his head and shoved it angrily into Alan’s chest. “You. You’re Robin Hood now. Me? I’m done.”

  “You’re more than that, Robin.” Marion moved after him. “We need you.”

  “Do we?” Robin threw his arms out, staring at the others.

  “I need you,” she said again, quieter. It was harder to say, and she honestly did not know if that was because it was a total lie, or the total truth.

  He reacted to that hesitation, and for a tender moment he was hers, desperate to impress her and make up for the shortcomings of their past. But that potential shifted away, imperceptibly, when neither of them said anything more. The silence that had so long connected them was—finally—damning.

  “I’ve spent my time,” Robin closed his eyes, “leading battles, pretending to be a leader I’m not. If I’m going to run around as a figurehead for people to shoot at, I’d much rather be a king than an outlaw.”

  He turned and left.

  She didn’t move. “You’re just going to walk away?”

  It stopped him, but only long enough for him to sling a few final insults. “I have a few days left before I go back to your cousin, who, by the way, is a better man than I’ll ever be. Until then, I’m sure I can find better company than that of thieves…” he targeted the men with that name, then aimed his final words directly at her, “… and liars.”

  Perhaps the worst part was that he was right.

  “I think I’ll take you up on your previous offer,” he added, marching toward the horses. “The fastest fucking one.”

  From behind, Will hollered “Good riddance!”

  A movement by her legs alerted Marion to Much, who pressed his body into her hip. “Where’s he going?”

  “He’s going away,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It’s what he does.”

  Marion took Much’s hand and pulled him back to the fire with the others. The sky was pitch black, and she had things far more important than regret. Will remained by the fire, the others huddled around him. They awaited her command.

  The answer had already formed itself. She couldn’t let them slide backward, to a place of fear. If they allowed themselves to be victims again, then the sense of progress, the rise of agency that had been building, it would be taken back tenfold.

  “We can’t sit back on these raids,” she said, as much as she hated it. “We have to stop it.”

  They collectively exhaled.

  Elena spoke first, walking behind the circle the others had formed. “She’s right. We don’t need Robin, we never did. And this was never his fight.” Arthur nodded, and John breathed in deeply. “These are our people. Our friends that need us. If Robin is willing to turn his back on people in need, then so be it. That’s his choice. We have to make our own.”

  She finished her circle at Will, and slipped her arms around him from behind. She whispered in his ear, but it was loud enough for everyone. “But there are some of us here with the strength to stand up and do what’s right.”

  Will squeezed her hand, and spoke slowly, “We’re not going to do nothing anymore. And we’re not going to wait, either.”

  Arthur and David gave a hear hear, which Alan joined in upon.

  “Right now, Gisbourne’s men are spread out all across Nottinghamshire, raiding villages. If we wait until they’re done, they’ll take it all back to Castle Rock. But right now, right now, they’re divided. In small groups. They wouldn’t know we’re coming.”

  “We have the element of surprise,” Elena said, and winked to Much.

  “So we’ve got to move fast,” John smiled.

  Will licked his lips. “It’s time to fight back. Marion?”

  She nodded.

  INTERLUDE

  JOHN LACKLAND

  TICKHILL CASTLE

  WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 30TH, 1191

  RED ROGER’S BEST WINE was terrible, and his prettiest daughter was delicious. John Lackland intended to spend the day in bed with both.

  The round tower-castle was a tangible expression of the fat baron’s pride. Its highest level was open to the world, ringed by pillars supporting a stone canopy. On an inclement day the wind might rip mercilessly through the open space, but on a day such as this John had no trouble keeping warm between the wine and the girl’s naked body.

  He suspected the traditional use for the “room” would be for surveying troop sizes, or to hold prominent weddings that those below might stare up upon. But John wanted to use it for debauchery. He had demanded, by asking politely of course, that the baron move his largest bed to this rooftop gallery. Baron Roger de Busli, or Red Roger as he notoriously branded himself, had been as accommodating as steel thicket.

  “With respect to you,” he had growled (a phrase that had never been followed by anything resembling respect), “the castle of Tickhill is expressly exempt of your charge.”

  “Which is why you shall accommodate me,” John had said, even then giving a squeeze to the daughter of his choice. “Out of generosity, rather than obedience. A much more trusting relationship that way.”

  He’d taken the daughter’s hand, whose name he would later l
earn was Myla, and spun her about to get a full look at her. She’d giggled and blushed when he gave her a light smack, which was all John needed.

  “It occurs to me that while Tickhill’s castle is indeed not mine to command, the same cannot be said for every inch that surrounds it. I wonder how long it would take to build a wall in front of your gates?”

  So they’d moved a bed for him, and kept the wine flowing for him, every cask worse than its predecessor, but it made his head swim wonderfully and he’d ravaged Myla for half an hour before he could finish. She had been timid at first, but later she moaned so loudly that her voice carried on the air and down the hill to the baron’s manor house, where John could only hope her father was forced to listen in rage.

  Tickhill Castle, tall as it was, was made ever taller for sitting on such a perfectly round hill. Myla was lying on her back next to him, recovering, and John twisted her nipple.

  “This is us…” he said, and traced his finger around her breast, “… this is the hill…” and down to her navel, “… that’s your father.”

  She laughed and batted his hands away, fretting that he was tickling her. “I am. Tickling you. In Tickhill. I’m Tickhilling you. There’s a joke there, I’m sure, I just don’t know what it is.” He was wittier sober, but a better lover drunk. He had the day to meander between the two, and try at both incessantly.

  “Show me the rest.” He vaulted to his feet, which had not been consulted on the idea and rejected it entirely. He opted to crawl. “I want to see what I can see. I am here to survey my lands. Show survey them to me.”

  That didn’t sound correct.

  Myla, still entirely naked, climbed onto his back and rode him to the edge of the room, a balcony that dropped sharply down to the green grass far below. Crawling had been a wise choice, as he would not have wanted to attempt standing so close to the lip.

  She wrapped her fingers through his hair and tugged his head about. “I like your hair.”

  Most girls did. Its red was so dark it was almost brown, but was all fire in the open air and sunlight up here. Hers grew down to the small of her back, unbraided. He could have spent a lifetime in the soft curve of her waist. Not his own lifetime, of course. Some lesser man’s lifetime. With every year that passed, his own future grew closer. So many hands pushing him closer and closer to the edge of responsibility. Rather like the edge of this tower, over the lip dizzying downward.